


it won't return (but I'll come back to you)

by janteu



Series: lygophilia / begin again [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 19:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5796307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janteu/pseuds/janteu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry returns Draco's wand in the time between the end of the Battle and their eighth year at Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it won't return (but I'll come back to you)

**Author's Note:**

> For Maddy; many thanks.

It starts with a summer morning unlike anything Draco has ever experienced or dared consider.

“I don’t need your pity, Potter.”

He can see Potter flinching, his notoriously green eyes closing for a moment. A summer breeze ruffles his hair as he stands, ever so stoic, in the threshold of the main entrance to the Manor. There’s nothing Draco can do but look at the overgrown shrubbery beyond Potter’s stubborn gaze, trying with every ounce of dignity left within him – which isn’t much, obviously, because he can’t even form a proper quip to respond to Potter’s ‘saviour attitude’, as he’s begun to call it – to keep his face as indifferent as possible.

Draco would really like to know what kind of cruel game fate has in store for him, because Harry-bloody-Potter showing up on his doorstep at precisely three in the afternoon on a hot summer day, offering Draco his old wand and the words, “I’d like to return this to you,” is most certainly not a common occurrence in Draco’s already shitty life. First came the shock, then the moment when he let himself believe that someone actually cared, and then the rage and the fear in his knowledge that, in truth, _caring_ seems to be beyond his knowledge. And thus, _“I don’t need your pity, Potter,”_ was spat out in a flurry of barely-controlled anger, leading him to this idiotic, inevitable standstill.

Draco’s glare is slowly diminishing, however, and Potter’s outstretched arm does not waver. A moment thick with tension seems to never end as Potter stands there stupidly, Draco stands there stupidly, and the heated gaze they share could definitely give the unforgiving summer sun a run for its money. Draco wishes that for once in his life, Potter would just give up and go home.

So that’s what he says. Potter only fixes his pitying stare on him again and hands Draco the wand anyway, but his jaw clenches and his grip tightens. “Just take it,” he says gruffly. And it’s so alike the Potter that Draco knows from school – so alike the time when all Draco had to worry about was Potter whipping his arse in a Quidditch tournament. Draco sighs internally. Even now, he can’t win against Potter. It’s rather depressing to have finally admitted it, actually, but he’s not quite sure how much fight he has left in him, anyway.

He doesn’t protest as he accepts his old wand with a sort of grace that only a Malfoy can perform, even with his bruised and bloodied pride. Potter stares at him, gaze even more pitiful than before, and he lets his grip on the doorknob loosen slightly. When Potter doesn’t run away immediately, he holds the wand carefully, as if it were to break in his hands. He finds himself wanting to say something, to thank _Saint Potter_ , but he can’t form the words – his tongue is twisted in knots and all he can think about is how nice it feels to have _his wand_ back in _his hands_.

“I…” he finally manages, gesturing at the sky; the trees…the great doors to the Manor that look like they haven’t been used in ages, the fading grey walls behind him that conceal his broken mother from the prying eyes of the Wizarding World. Potter seems to understand.

“You’re welcome,” he says, a gentle smile on his face. Draco says nothing. “I know what this means to you,” Potter continues softly. “Really, I do.” Draco can’t help the skeptical look that crosses his features, and immediately shuts it down when he knows Potter has seen it. He inwardly cringes, not expecting the soft, melancholy laugh that escapes Potter’s lips, and something twists in his chest as he watches the other boy in hidden awe. It’s a strange sound. Potter speaks again. “I know what it’s like to lose something you love.”

Draco gives an imperceptible nod of his head.

Wind rustles through the trees quietly and all Draco can think about is _Potter Potter Potter – Potter, when did you become so perceptive?_ or _Potter, why are you here?_ When Potter finally looks up, Draco clutches his wand close to his chest, exuding a “now that you’ve given it to me, you can’t take it back,” sort of aura. Potter laughs again.

“Only you,” he says softly; fondly. Draco can’t quite decipher what it’s supposed to mean, but he glares at Potter all the same, which elicits yet another bittersweet smile. It’s perplexing, yet Draco is utterly transfixed.

Finally, Potter turns, green eyes slipping away and Draco is left with a funny feeling in his chest. He moves to close the door, but before he can shrink away into his own little cowardly world, Potter calls,

“Malfoy.”

Draco spins around to face him again, his scowl giving away the exasperated _what do you need this_ _time_ , _Potter_ that he can’t quite say aloud. Potter is grinning.

“See you at Hogwarts in the fall,” he says and simply walks away. It’s rather rude of Potter, actually, to assume – no; _decide_ that Draco will be Hogwarts for the upcoming school year (even if Draco was planning on going anyway).

It seems Potter understands him better than he thought.

Draco pushes that thought away as quickly as it arrives, and then all he can really do is stand there and wonder if Potter’s smile has always been so bright.

 _See you,_ replies Draco internally.

It’s a good thing Draco knows for a fact that Potter is absolutely piss-poor at legilimency, because if anyone else had turned around at that exact moment and nodded, he would have immediately accused them of reading his mind.

Draco nods back.

And he finally allows himself to think that, with this familiar wand resting in his hand and Potter’s green eyes fresh in his mind, he just might have a chance to start anew.

“ _Potter,”_ he mumbles, annoyed.

But he wants to smile.


End file.
